Quotes About Self

There is no loss-because there is not any Self that can be lost. Whatsoever was, that you have been;- whatsoever is, that you are;- whatsoever will be, that you must become. Personality!- individuality!- the ghosts of a dream in a dream! Life infinite only there is; and all that appears to be is but the thrilling of it, -sun, moon, and stars, -earth, sky, and sea,-and Mind and Man, and Space and Time. All of them are shadows. The shadows come and go;- the Shadow-Maker shapes forever.

I am like a caricature of myself, and I like that. It is like a mask. And for me the Carnival of Venice lasts all year long.

True guilt is guilt at the obligation one owes to oneself to be oneself. False guild is guilt felt at not being what other people feel one ought to be or assume that one is.

Children do not give up their innate imagination, curiosity, dreaminess easily. You have to love them to get them to do that. Love is the path through permissiveness to discipline: and through discipline, only too often, to betrayal of self.

The human mind has to ask "Who, what, whence, whither, why am I?" And it is very doubtful if the human mind can answer any of these questions.

We are effectively destroying ourselves by violence masquerading as love.

No one has schizophrenia, like having a cold. The patient has not "got" schizophrenia. He is schizophrenic.

No one has the answer: we are answer and question.

We only get to be one person; we don't even get to choose that person. By the time we get ahold of ourselves, we are pieces already in play.

Hate could do that, too - live off nothing but itself - but not forever.

And yet, something tied them together, strong than any of that, something with the power to conduct her blood and breath like a symphony, so that anything she did to fight against it felt like discord, like disharmony with her self.

Even if it was just walls and a roof with papers inside, it had bewitched him, and drawn him in, and given him everything he needed to become himself.

Rushing, like wind through a door, and Karou was the door, and the wind was coming home, and she as also the wind. She was all: wind and home and door. She rushed into herself and was filled. She let herself in and was full.

She'd poured so much of herself into keeping it buried, sometimes it felt like any energy she might have had for joy or love or light went there instead. You only had so much to give.

No le perteneces. Tampoco me perteneces a mi. Tú eres tu propio sueño.

The function of hate, as Sarai saw it, was to stamp out compassion--to close a door to one's own self and forget it was ever there.

What are you?" he asked. Not who, but what.

The function of hate […] was to stomp out compassion - to close a door in one's own self and forgot it was ever there.

Nu te lupta cu monstrii , ca sa nu devii tu insusi monstru, caci daca privesti in prapastie, si prapastia priveste in tine , de asemenea.

Sarai couldn't even remember what her own had been like, back before she had made of it the zoo of terrors it was now - her own mind a place she was afraid to be caught out in after dark.

He was inside that realm of mind, the private universe, the infinite sphere of himself where he went to work magic.

Ella era la diosa de... ella misma. Y no podía dejar de mirarla.

One is you, two is me, three is her, four is she!

Ve. Ve, y a ver qué hay en ti.